Goldilocks
by stillgoldie1899
Summary: She was looking for someone to save her. What she found instead was a newsboy in a cowboy hat, a snake with the face of an angel, happy to sell off the last of her worth, if only to make a quick buck. Real life isn't a fairy tale, and there are no prince charmings, not really. (Now complete.)
1. Chapter 1

"You're done here. Get out. Now, 'fore I have to get the lads from downstairs to throw you out."

The words wound their way through her thoughts, round and round, slowly weighing more and more heavily on her shoulders. The factory hadn't been the best job ever, it was true, but it had been a job, a sort of rock, one island of security in an uncertain world. Who could have believed a mere year ago everything was different? She still had a home, then, albeit a small apartment, shared with her whole family, and she'd been happier at the factory, working with her sisters. There were even a few boys who kept catching her eye, and one or two of them had finally gotten bold enough to start saying hello to her as she passed. She was on the verge of saying hello back.

Then the fevers swept through her neighborhood. Her mother was the first to catch it, and she seemed to get sick, and then better again, but by then, the twins had it too. Everyone else was kept away from them, but as they got sicker, mama got sicker again, too. They were gone the same day, buried in paupers graves because the rent was due, and the rest of them needed to eat.

Not that eating, or a roof and walls could stop an illness. Maura went next, Caitlin just after, and then papa. She got sick, too, but somehow, for some reason, it spared her. By then, though, papa had long since been fired, and she'd come close. On her factory wages, she couldn't keep the family apartment, or pay for funerals. The rest of her family joined her mother and the twins, and she packed up and sold off the precious reminders of better days, packing what she could into a small bag, and finding herself a room in a women's rooming house near the factory.

But she wasn't the same. More than just the loss of her family, the fever had left her a bit sickly, it was harder for her to manage the work. She started making mistakes, getting yelled at, threatened. And then the foreman finally cornered her. She had one chance to save her job- she was pretty enough still, and he had a son who needed a wife. Only she had met this son, and he was a drunken, odious thug who spent his time bullying anyone weaker than himself. The idea of being more or less secure for the rest of her life was appealing, but knowing she'd spend it miserable and beaten down, working while her husband drank away her wages, and she and her assuredly eventual children slowly starved to death was unacceptable. She turned him down.

"You're done here. Get out. Now, 'fore I have to get the lads from downstairs to throw you out."

And with that, she was homeless- she'd never find work fast enough to earn the wages she'd need to pay the rent, due the next day. Homeless, and alone, and frightened, in a numb sort of way. The enormity of it, not having any idea what she would do, or where she would go, where she would sleep, when she would eat again, it was so overwhelming that she just sort of ignored it, drifting into the rooming house, gathering her things and drifting back out again.

It was late fall, and the nights were getting colder. It would only get worse, and there was really nowhere for her to go. Everything was sort of spinning in her head, a slight roar in her ears, blinders on as she wandered forward, not paying any attention at all to where she was going. Several times she was jostled to the side by passing pedestrians, but she barely noticed, just kept her head down and moved forward. She had half a mind to walk right to the edge of the island, and right off of it, into the river. It was cold enough that she might freeze to death when she got out, if she didn't drown. It wasn't as though she could swim.

But then, there was a buzzing sort of noise. It kept repeating itself, until she stopped and turned, frowning faintly at a tall boy with a cowboy hat, who was smirking faintly at her. "I said do you want a pape, miss? Least you could do is answer me. Sheesh."

"A what?" Her life was beyond things like newspapers, trivial things. What did the news of others matter to her? She was going to starve or freeze or drown. Why should she care about idiotic headlines?

"A newspaper." The boy emphasised his wares by waving one in her face, before his smirk slowly became a frown. "You alright, lady? You look like you're about to fall over."

"If I do, I do." Shrugging, she turned, and intended to begin walking again, by this point completely lost. She had never been to this part of town before, she wasn't even sure what part of town it was.

The cowboy caught her arm, surprisingly gently, and stopped her. "Hey, that's no way to talk. Ain't my place or anythin, but nothing could be that bad."

She turned, and the blank expression on her face slowly turned into a frown. Who the hell did he think he was? "Of course it could."

"Try me." The boy at least let go of her arm, leaning against the wall just behind him, arms crossing.

She had half a mind to just walk away, but something about his expression angered her. She took a step forward, her voice getting harder, colder. "My family is dead, I just got fired, I have no home, no money, nothing. I'm going to starve to death on the streets, and the only ones who will care are the damn rats, who'll probably tear my corpse apart. At least they'll get something out of it."

The boy shook his head a bit, and pulled his hat down a bit over his eyes. "Look, I'm sorry about your folks, and your job, but it ain't the end of the world. It hurts, but it's no excuse to just fall over and lie there until you die. My ma died when I was a kid, my pa's in jail, I have no idea where my older brother or younger sister have gotten off to, I've been on the street, all alone, since I was 7. I ain't dead yet, now am I?"

She recoiled slightly, her face scrunching. "I don't know. Are you?" She was being sarcastic, hiding in it, because it was easier to do that then attempt to feel empathy for him.

"Alive as can be. Sometimes I go a bit hungry, but I manage. And I ain't the only one." The cowboy smiled slightly, and then sighed, shaking his head. "Look, like I said, it ain't my place. Just think about that. There's always somethin. Hope, you know. There's always hope."

"No, there isn't." Her insides were twisting, and hope was the opposite of what she was feeling, blanketing her. Of course he'd survived, he was a street urchin, they were bred to it, they knew how to survive, stealing and cowering in alleys and corners. She didn't know any of those things, and she was too old to learn them now.

The look on the boys face made it clear he knew this wasn't a battle he'd win, and he physically backed away, his hands up. "Alright, Goldilocks. But if you decide to not just fall over and die, and you've got a nickle or two to your name, think about turning your hand at flower selling, or newspaper selling. Buy-in ain't much, and you make back double what you spent. It's rough at first, but it gets better."

She realized, somewhere, deep down, that she wasn't, perhaps, ready for it to be better yet. And that, somehow, was worse than the plain hopelessness. She didn't know what to say to say to him, to his logic. She didn't want logic, she wanted her mother back. She wanted her sisters, the twins, her father back. She wanted to be safe and warm and back at home, not to be presented with horrible, soul-crushing options for plain survival. She didn't want her life to just be plain survival. She wanted happiness. She wanted to say hello to the butcher's boy, maybe flirt with him. Have him ask her to step out with him, so see a show some night. Maybe she'd let him kiss her, maybe not. But either way, she wanted him to ask her father if he could marry her. Happily ever after. She wanted a happily ever after, and she would never get one, now.

"M-my name's not Goldilocks." Was all she could snap at him, as her own arms crossed fiercely over her stomach, and she stormed away from him, jaw shaking, feeling far more miserable than she had when he'd stopped her, more hopeless, more inclined to just walk off the edge of the island into the cold water.

"Sure it is!" Came the reply from somewhere behind her. "I'll see you again, Goldilocks!"


	2. Chapter 2

He did, of course, see her again, about a month later, although that month had not been kind to her.

The bag was long gone, her things sold, one by one, for food, until the bag itself was stolen, along with the only things she'd refused to sell. The last of her memories, taken. Her coat had nearly been pulled from her, torn, and very poorly patched back together, much like the stitching of her one pair of gloves, falling slowly apart, the fingers coming undone, leaving the tips of her fingers bare, and blackened with dirt. And where at first she'd been somewhat paranoid about keeping as clean and tidy as possible, in spite of sleeping rough, by the time she ran into the cowboy again, she'd given up, hair twisted into an unkempt knot, face a bit darker with a layer of street grim that just wouldn't go away, the color of her clothes faded into a dull greyish sort of color, the fabric starting to thin and fray, seams and hems coming undone from constant wear and tear.

Those were just the outward changes, but they eerily mirrored her emotional state, and the boy with the cowboy hat found it hard to tease her when their paths finally crossed again, the smile he'd been wearing falling when he caught sight of her, only barely recognizing her by her coat, and the color of her hair. Her face was a little gaunt, and his eyes were drawn to a faintly fading bruise that curled along the side of her cheek to her neck, just barely visible over the collar of her coat.

"You didn't take up selling newspapers or flowers, I see." His eyebrow arched ever so slightly at the girl leaning heavily against the stoop railing of one of the parish churches in his selling territory. She looked mildly hungover, or at the very least, like she hadn't gotten any sleep in days.

"Who the hell're you?" The way her voice slurred, just slightly, made her realize she was still a bit drunk, although the drinking had ended hours and hours before. She closed her eyes, rubbing at her forehead, and snuggling slightly against the stonework, against which she'd been sitting for so long that it was starting to radiate her own warmth back at her a little. "Oh, that newsie. I think you were right. It wasn't that bad, then. I didn't know how bad it could be."

"What happened?" He frowned, shaking his head. She'd clearly lost her way, horribly.

She laughed, bitterly, a slightly crazy hint to it, a wild, unhappy sound. "Life. People. Alcohol." She'd never been allowed to drink, before, and even when she'd been living on her own in the rooming house, she'd never bothered to try it. But she'd found in the meantime that alcohol had the useful effect of making her forget how horrible her life had become.

"How do you pay for that alcohol?" The newsie sighed slightly, his arms crossing, a sinking feeling settling in his chest. He sensed he already knew, and when she didn't answer, or meet his eyes, he frowned harder. "You don't have to do that, you know. There are other options."

"Are there? I'm not good at anythin else. Hell, I'm not even good at -this-, but I get by, and I only get hit every once and awhile." The longer she spent wandering the streets, the more and more she had begun to regret turning down the foreman's horrible son. A lifetime subjected to him would have been better than a short life on the streets. "Anyway, it ain't your business, cowboy hat...boy. So, just leave me alone."

"I could do that." He replied, shaking his head. He already felt guilty about it, and he knew that insisting on helping a girl like her would only upset his sweetheart, but Sarah had an equally big heart, and she'd eventually understand. "But then I'd have to live with knowing you're out here like this, and I can't do that. C'mon, I've got a place you can sleep for awhile. I'll have to do some fancy bargaining, but the owner shouldn't give me too much trouble, if it's just until you can find someplace better. It ain't a fancy hotel or anythin, but it's warm."

She resisted his attempts to get her to her feet, but she'd lost so much weight over the last month or so, a bad side effect of eating only enough to not starve, that she couldn't stop him, really. She stumbled to her feet, falling against him before pulling sharply away as soon as she was steady, arms crossed over her stomach, keeping her coat shut, shoulders hunched. "What if I don't want to go?"

"Do you really want to stay here?" He asked, as he started steering her in the direction of the lodging house, more focused on finding the right argument to make to Kloppman that would make him agree to let the girl stay in the attic for a day or two, until he could get her settled and selling newspapers or some such. After that, he could just walk her over to the rooming house the newsgirls who worked closer to the bridge lived in, and once she was in their hands, he'd feel better about everything. Buf if he took her there now, he had the feeling she'd just bolt. The local newsgirls were a bit clannish, and off-putting on a good day, but if they felt like someone didn't belong, they could be downright horrible, he'd seen it happen. The best thing would be to ease her into their little group, a bit at a time.

"I don't even know your name. You don't know mine. Why are you doing this?" She had given up, letting him steer her, mostly because, in general, her will to resist had long since been shattered. He was stronger than she was, so, she let him drag her off- it was pointless to struggle with someone stronger than herself. They always got what they wanted, anyway.

"I know your name. It's Goldilocks. And mine's Cowboy, so there you go. I'm doing this because I had a chance to help you before, and I didn't, and look where you are now. I feel responsible." It was silly, and he knew it. He wasn't actually responsible for the girl's actions, but he still felt guilty, as though if he'd offered to show her how to sell newspapers that first afternoon, she might not have ended up where she had.

"It not your fault I'm an idiot." Her voice was small, and she seemed to shrink a bit into herself at the thought of how stupid she really had been in the last month or so. Everything had fallen apart, so quickly, and she was so tired. Hopeless had been following her since long before she'd met this boy, but it had blanketed her so completely that it had begun to feel normal. She couldn't even fight it. She didn't even have it in her to tell him her name wasn't Goldilocks. It wasn't the only condescending nickname she'd been given lately, and it wouldn't be the last.

Glancing at her, the newsie sighed a bit, wondering if the girl had ever actually been happy, or if she'd always just been like this. She reminded him a bit of one of his friends, in her sort of helpless acceptance of hopelessness. "Alright, what's your real name, anyway? I have to have something to tell Kloppman."

She blinked, somewhat startled, up at him, a frown curling the edges of her lips down just a bit, eyebrows creasing. "Amanda. My... my friends call me Mandy." It had been a very long time since anyone had bothered to ask her name, or anything about her, beyond what her company might cost them.

"Alright, then, Mandy. Lets get you warmed up." The lodging house wasn't anything special, but for him, it was home, and hopefully, the girl next to him would at least be able to rest for a moment there.


	3. Chapter 3

Warm, and safe, and comfortable. That was what she felt, for the moment, and the last thing she wanted to do was get up and out from under her blanket, off to work at the factory. She snuggled down, a bit further, her fingers curling around the edge of the blanket, expecting to feel the small lace edging, startled awake when she didn't. She wasn't at home.

The sun was setting, she could just see it through the small window set along one wall, dust slowly drifting through the light. She was on a cot, in an attic, and it took her a moment to figure out why.

Her head was still throbbing a bit as she stood, stomach a horrible combination of turning on itself and starving, and she sensed she could use a bath. But there wasn't one in sight- there wasn't water in sight either, and she could use a glass of that, as well. She struggled to remember what the boy had said she could do when she woke up, but the whole morning was a bit of a blur, and she eventually gave up remembering, straightening her dress, and slipping down the stairs into the dim hallway, peeking around the door. Voices were coming from another room down the hall, and she closed the door again to consider her options.

She could hide in the attic, or go see if that cowboy hat boy was there. She needed him to tell her where she even was, and where the closest local bar was. Staying here, and selling newspapers was an absurd proposition. Her life was horrible, but at least she was managing to keep herself fed. She was pretty sure she wouldn't manage that selling newspapers.

Then there was the fact the voices were male. Enough of them in a group, and she wouldn't be able to fight them off. If they would even bother to attack her. She was sure she looked a mess, half-starved, bags under her eyes, the faded remains of rouge still on her lips, almost completely rubbed away, but not quite. They would know the kind of girl she was, and it wasn't as though she had spare clothing to change into.

It was a conflict she wasn't going to settle any time soon, and with her stomach twisting and rumbling, it stopped being a question. She was too hungry, and they might have something to eat.

She slipped into the hallway, wincing with every creak of the floor as she made her way to the door, she could hear the voices behind, taking a deep breath before tugging the door open, blinking, startled at the minor chaos that lay before her.

It was a bunkroom, and perhaps during the day, it might seem orderly, but at the moment not so much, filled to brimming with boys sprawled in every possible manner, all over the place. She couldn't see the boy who'd brought her there, but it would have been hard for her to see him over everyone else, heads all turned, silence suddenly deafening.

"Um...Cowboy...?" It was idiotic, the words coming out of her mouth, but she didn't have any idea what else to say. And the boys didn't seem to have anything to say to her, no one so much as blinking, or answering her. She endured the silence for a moment before wincing slightly, backing out of the doorway. "Or not. I'll just be goin, then."

One of the boys, dark haired and Italian-looking, cleared his throat finally, flashing her a charming smile around a dangling cigar. "Sorry, ah...Goldilocks? Kelly mentioned you were takin a bit of a nap upstairs. He's gone out, but he'll be back in a bit. You hungry?"

"M'name's not Goldilocks." She made a bit of a face, more at the fact she was flushing about the boy who'd dragged her here having abandoned her than at the nickname, and she felt instantly guilty about the look on the boy's face. "But you can call me that, that's fine. And I'm starvin, if there's somethin to eat."

There were a few odd, and perhaps jealous looks as the boy appeared to abandon a card game to get to his feet, grinning as he slid a cap onto his head, snagging a coat. "Nothin here, but Tibby's is just down the way. They make a mean sandwich. I can take you, if you want."

It was a testiment to the last several weeks of her life that her first concern was less about paying for the food, and more about what he'd expect of her afterwards. But he didn't look the type, and besides, she was too hungry to argue, so she just nodded, smiling a bit. There was a small bit of muttering as the boy with the cigar crossed the room, and gestured wards the hallway. "Lets go."

As they headed downstairs, she spotted the older man who had, after a long conversation, agreed to let her stay in the attic for a few days. She remembered that much, although she was hazy on his name, and she found it hard to meet his eyes as she appeared downstairs in the lobby with one of his lodgers. She did catch a disapproving look on his face as they headed outside, and it made her feel about two inches tall. Once out of earshot, she mumbled, mostly to herself, but still loud enough for the boy with the cigar to hear.

"I don't think he likes me much."

"Kloppman doesn't like girls in his lodgin house. Thinks we'll get some idea about turning it into a brothel." The tone of the boys voice was teasing, but his face got a bit serious when she winced at the word "brothel". "Ah, but he's like that with all girls, it ain't just you." He was quiet a moment before grinning. "Name's Racetrack, by the way."

"Mandy." She replied, smiling slightly up at him, "But you can call me Goldilocks, if you want."

"Well, Mandy, pleased to meet you. How'd you get to know Jack, anyway?" His hands were tucked in the pockets of his pants, cigar tossed aside as it had burned down to almost nothing as they walked.

"I don't. I ran into in the street about a month ago. He saw me again this morning, and said he felt guilty. I think he's crazy." She shrugged, her arms crossed over her stomach, shaking her head, keeping her eyes open for whatever passed for a local bar.

"He is kinda crazy." Racetrack nodded, and finally stopped walking, holding the door to a small cafe for her. "But he's a good guy. If he wants to help you, you should let him."

"I guess." She sighed, brushing her hair out of her face, ignoring the look the apparently long-suffering waitstaff gave them. "So...is it hard? Selling newspapers?"

"Not really." Racetrack shrugged, finding them a table and pulling a chair for her before settling across the table. "I'd be happy to show you to the ropes, if you wanted to learn. I sell over in Brooklyn at the tracks. I can take you with me, if you want."

"You go all the way to Brooklyn to sell newspapers?" She gave him a strange look, flushing a little at the menu, since she couldn't read.

"Yeah, well, I like the races, you know? And I like living here, so." He shrugged, and glanced over the menu. "The meatloaf is good, too. And their sausage sandwich is the best."

She nodded quickly, storing that information away. She'd get the sausage. "Well, I guess if you don't mind the walk. Is it a nice walk?"

"Parts of it are." He nodded, smiling a bit at her. "Like I said, I'll show you, if you want."

Glancing around the little cafe, she shrugged a bit. It wasn't great, but it would do until she could maybe figure out something better. Escape the bars and the alcohol, and eventually this, too. "Yeah. I'd like that." She agreed, although she wasn't sure she wouldn't later regret it.


	4. Chapter 4

By the time New Years had come and gone, a brand new century, she had long since found herself settled in the run-down rooming house that the local newsgirls lived in, not quite one of them, but no longer a complete outsider. She didn't get along especially well with the girl's leader, a bull headed girl who went by Jaguar and had the fangs and claws to go with the name, or her underlings, but several of the other girls who were more or less in the same vague "fringe" category had taken it upon themselves to befriend her.

She did, from time to time, still sell with Race, comfortable enough with the guy to tease him about his cigar, and to be the one he'd take out when he'd won big at the tracks. She wasn't his girl, per se, but as close as those things tended to get among newsies. She might have made things more official, or at least, she might have tried to get him to do so if it wasn't for the fact that on rare occasion, she fell back on older methods of making ends meet, especially when headlines were bad. She never felt it was really fair to let him in if she didn't intend to be faithful, and she couldn't quite afford to make that sort of commitment.

She knew it frustrated him a little, but it was a subject they didn't talk about. It was a subject no one talked about, not only on her part, but a number of the other girls as well. It was simply that they all had a harder time of it, the boys were just somehow better at it, and the girls had a hard time fighting the reputation that they were no better than women who worked the streets and bars. It didn't help that several of them did both things, for the sake of not starving, or being left to sleep in the cold.

The woman who ran the rooming house the girls lived in was a crotchety old widow named Mrs. Bulger, and she offered them bunks and breakfast at only five cents more a week than the boys paid. Granted, breakfast was coffee and toast, which they could get on the streets for free from the nuns most days, but it didn't matter, especially in the winter, when they could all gather around the large coal stove in the dining room, huddled in the warm before heading out to pick up their papers.

Life had taken on a simple routine, and there were actually days when she barely noticed that her family was gone. She got caught up in all of the petty squabbles, and infighting that came with living in a house full of girls ranging in age from five to a few that were pushing twenty. She tried to stay out of most fights, but she gained a reputation for being fairly feisty in defence of her friends.

And then there was Cowboy. The boy's leader had, true to his word, made sure she was settled, made a point of keeping an eye on her, but the moment she was safe under Racetrack's wing, he'd left her be, spending his time, as she later learned he always did, with his partner, David, and David's little brother Les, and their very pretty sister, Sarah, who was, officially, Jack's girl. The fact that he was taken didn't stop most of the girls who sold in the area from being in love with him. And she was no exception. For her, he was more than just a handsome face, powerful in his own right, the leader of a union and everything. He'd given her back a family, and a small bit of hope, in spite of everything.

Still, he was taken, and she was kind of taken, and Race was a good guy. She liked him, a lot. Some day, she might even fall in love with him, she wasn't sure. And she knew she was foolish to cast her eyes at anyone else, lest she lose him. It didn't stop her, though, she couldn't stop herself from wanting him, the same way she'd wanted the butcher's boy, what felt like years ago, back at home.

And what good was unrequited love if not a driving force to distract herself from it? She spent her time, instead, trying to learn how to read, with the help of one of the other newsgirls, a quiet, mousy girl named Lia. In exchange, she was teaching the other girl how to knit and sew, skills that came in very handy when it came time to mend old and worn out clothing, or hand-me-downs from other girls. She was sure that Lia had to exercise as much patience with her butchering of the alphabet as she did with the girl's crooked stitches, but both of them were making progress. She could at least decypher the headlines most days, which didn't help all that much. Outside of the turning of the century, that winter there wasn't much in the way of exciting news. She'd never been one for lying, but she discovered she had a knack for it, making things up, pulling lies out of thin air. It became a skill she found herself using in daily life, as well, and while several months earlier, she would have been horrified with herself, it had become the least of the things she did that would have horrified her mother.

It wasn't the best life, but it was a decent one, and she was beginning to think that nothing horrible was going to happen to her again, maybe she could just accept that everything was going to be alright. Maybe everything would be just fine. It was a pleasant daydream, one she clung to. She'd found a place for herself, not a perfect one, but enough. She finally accepted that it was possible she might be happy again.

Nothing was going to happen. Of course not.


	5. Chapter 5

It was dark, and she was already past curfew, and getting back to the rooming house before dawn didn't seem like it was going to happen. But she, and one of the other newsgirls, Lia, had been out hitting a few of the local pubs and they'd had so much fun that they'd lost track of time. Lia had wandered off with a somewhat scruffy dock worker, however, leaving her alone sitting at the bar.

She was not expecting a very drunk Jack Kelly to sit next to her with an audible sigh. Her eyebrow arched, turning to give him a strange look as she finished her glass of whiskey, paid for by Lia's dock worker before they left.

"Don't think I've ever seen you here before, Kelly." She was mildly drunk, but apparently not as bad as the boy next to her who nearly fell off his chair when she spoke to him.

"Goldilocks...should've figured I'd find you here. Lia around? Tabby, maybe? Whole bunch of you all out tonight?" He was slurred, but the bitterness of his tone was perfectly clear, as he leaned heavily on the bar, counting a few coins out as though attempting to figure out if he could afford another drink.

She blinked, and then snorted, shaking her head, shrugging his words off as though the implication didn't sting. "Yeah, Lia's here, too." She cleared her throat before adding, "I think Sarah might have something to say about you being drunk here, Cowboy."

"Sarah...she's pretty." Was all Jack bothered to reply as he waved at the bartender.

"He's all set." She gave the bartender a stern look when he finally wandered over, and the older man gave Jack one good look, and nodded agreement, wandering away again. "You're going to end up dead in a gutter. Lets get you home, alright?"

Standing, she tried to haul Jack to his feet, but not only was he a fair bit bigger, but he was all deadweight at the moment, and she struggled, tugging him, perfectly aware of the irony of the situation. "C'mon, Jack, we're going back to the loding house. And maybe Kloppy'll even let you in."

He finally began at least stumbling in the right direction, leaning against her, and mumbling. "Sarah's pretty, you know? Beautiful. Perfect. Smart. Too good for me."

"What're you talkin about, Jack? Everyone know the two of you are fairy tale perfect." She snorted, and tried to steer him towards the lodging house where he could sleep off whatever had convinced him getting this trashed was a good idea.

"No we ain't." Came the mumbled reply. And it was true, not everything was as perfect as it seemed, Sarah was angry with him that he hadn't taken the success of the strike and moved it into a larger field. She thought he was resting on his laurels when he could be making more of a difference, disgusted that he wasn't spending all of his free time helping set up other children's worker's unions and the like. She didn't understand that it had never been his intention to take it further than he had to, that he cared about the rights of working children as far as it extended to him. He wasn't about to spend the rest of his life slaving for everyone else, he had himself to look out for, and he had been doing precious little of that lately.

He was drunk because they'd had yet another fight about his not wanting to go to some rally or other she'd heard about and wanted to go to. Mayer was going, as well, and David, she had argued, why not him? But he just wanted to catch a show at Irving Hall, and go back to the lodging house to go to bed.

Instead, of course, he'd gotten rip-roaring drunk, and was being hauled home by the same little fool he'd tried to save from exactly the same fate not several months earlier.

"Of course you are. Don't be an idiot, Jack, you're just drunk. And if you don't stop talking like an idiot, I'll just leave you here, how about that? You like the sound of that?" She didn't know what else to say, although it was starting to be clear he and Sarah had gotten into a fight about something. But then, she wasn't exactly one of his friends, and he wasn't likely to tell her anything, so she didn't even bother to ask.

"You wouldn't leave me here." Jack shook his head, and glanced sideways at her, shaking his head a bit. It was difficult to miss the longing glances most of the local newsgirls tossed his way, and he knew she was no exception. Even drunk, he knew he wasn't really being fair, but he was sick of fair. He was sick of playing by the rules. He wasn't ever really Jack Kelly, strike leader, or Francis Sullivan, poor street boy. He was always whoever he needed to be to get the job done. His whole life was one big scam, and here he was, a idiot, to use her words, for trying to buy into it. Strike leader...that wasn't who he was. He was his father's son, through and through, and he knew exactly what his father would do in a situation like this, with a girl like her.

"Of course I would, Kelly, you always think you're so clever, but you don't know me-" She was cut short by his lips crushing hers. It was so unexpected that she didn't have time to react, and she'd spent so long thinking about it, that once she'd figured out which way was up, she kissed him back, knowing he'd wake up in the morning and regret having done it, regret that it had been her, and it would never be spoken about again.

It didn't really matter to her that he tasted of cheap whiskey, that he had a sweetheart, that she had Race. This wasn't really happening, none of it. This wasn't real, his hands on her arms, sliding down to her wrists, pressing her back against the closest cold brick wall. Even when his lips finally broke away from hers and moved in grazing kisses along her cheek to her neck, nuzzling down the side, it still wasn't real. It wasn't.

But the first proper lungful of cold air brought her to her senses, pushing him off a bit, frowning, and flushed. "Kelly, what the hell...?"

He moved closer again, his teeth grazing the skin near the hollow of her throat. "How much do you charge, Goldilocks? How much do you make a night like this? I can pay like the rest of them..."

She winced, pushing him off again, shaking her head. It was the most horrible thing he could have said to her, and she suspected he knew that. She tried to mask the bitterness in her voice, but it seeped through the edges, more than she would have liked. "I make enough to pay for my room, and my damn newspapers and food. And you were the one who tried to tell me it was a bad idea. I'm figurin out that it is."

He pulled away, meeting her eyes, and for the first time, she saw the kind of man he could be. Selfish and cold, not the friendly newsboys leader she'd known. Somehow, this side of him made more sense than the other. "Who watches your back when you're out here all alone, Goldilocks? If you start screaming, who comes running? No one, you're all alone. That ain't safe." His fingers hooked under her chin, and he smile a dangerously charming smile before pulling his hand back. "Think about that tonight, huh?"

When he turned to walk away, he was far more steady on his feet than he had been mere moments earlier, and she was left staring after him in confusion, breathing a bit too fast, still pink around the ears, utterly confused. What the hell had that been about?


	6. Chapter 6

It dawned rainy, and dark, weather to match her mood. She hadn't told Lia what had happened when she finally found the other girl, and the two of them made their way to the fire escape behind the rooming house, sneaking into the bunk rooms in time to get about two hours worth of sleep before they were woken up again. Both got the scolding they occasionally got from Mrs. Bulger about staying out late, and then the little old lady wandered back into her rooming house.

Other than being slightly hungover seeming, and the fact that he and his selling partner seemed to not be on speaking terms, Jack didn't act any different, and he didn't make any move to speak to her, although he did smirk slightly when their eyes met for just a moment through the crowd. She flushed, and quickly ducked her head, ignoring Lia's questions, trying to go about her day without thinking about what he'd said to her.

She knew what he was suggesting. He wanted part of what she made in exchange for keeping her safe, and if she agreed to it, she knew he'd try it with the others. She wasn't sure she wanted that- in the first place, getting by was hard enough without splitting the money she made with anyone else.

She had to wonder how many of the others had ever seen this side of their fearless leader. He acted so noble, so kind around everyone else. An honorable guy, who just wanted to fight for what was good in the world. And she knew better, she'd seen the face he didn't show them. But some of them had known him for ages, they had to have seen the uglier side of him. And they just ignored it? Or had they just forgotten about it? Or did they think he'd changed? She knew the other girls, the ones in love with him, wouldn't want to believe it. And while she had to honestly consider his offer- after all, it really wasn't all that safe on her own and she'd only been lucky up until now- she knew the others would blame her if they found out. They'd say it was her idea, she knew the way they thought.

She was damned no matter what she did, and as she went about her day, trying to hawk newspapers, and not freeze to death at the same time, it gnawed at her. It made her feel miserable- a feeling she was gaining a wealth of experience with. It must have showed through on her face, although she tried to hide it, because as the sun started to set, she still had a small armload of newspapers nobody seemed to want to buy from her.

"Someone other than Race should have shown you how to sell papes, Goldilocks." Jack's voice came out of nowhere, from behind her, making her twitch, already on edge from overthinking and nerves. When she spun to face him, he was leaning against a brick wall, casual as you please, smirking at her. "If I hadn't been so busy with Sarah, I would have taken you on myself."

The way he said it made it sound dirty, and she flushed a little, backing up, almost into the street just to give her a bit of distance. "When you found me, on those steps at the church, and you said you wanted to help me, was that all an act?"

The smirk faded from his face a bit, his eyes clouding, and he pushed off of the wall, leaning in, closer to her, forcing her to take another, halting step back. "It wasn't an act. I actually thought I was that person. Union leader, good guy, Jack Kelly. I thought I had a happily ever after, you know. Perfect girl, bright future. Except that guy isn't me. Never was. I don't give a shit about unions, or workers rights. I care about me. And my perfect girl is starting to figure out that she don't like that much. Neither does her family. My father always told me faking it made it real, if you faked it for long enough. Except it doesn't."

"So, what, now you're...giving up on being a good guy?" She frowned at him, backing up again, into the street, made nervous by his obvious frustration, which was almost palpable. She had the distinct impression he hadn't voiced this to anyone, and she had no idea why he was telling her, except that he probably realized she couldn't, or wouldn't say anything to anyone.

"No. I'm still a good guy. They all think I'm a good guy." His head tilted a bit and he took yet another step forward, reaching out to catch a thick strand of her hair, twirling it around his fingers. "I'm such a good guy, I'm offering to look out for you, when you go out at night. Like tonight. You've barely sold your papers, and I'm willing to bet you haven't even eaten. You can go out tonight, or you can starve. And I'd hate to have something happen to you while you're just trying to make ends meet, Goldilocks. After I've looked out for you, and everything."

She was about to take another step back when a carriage rumbled past, and she jumped forward, right up against him, to avoid it, gasping, and then gasping again when his arm encircled her waist. "I...I don't need your help, Jack, I'm fine on my own. And the last thing I want is Sarah killing me because of this."

"Sarah? Yeah, about Sarah..." He tugged her back with him, away from the edge of the street. "She's beautiful, and she's smart, and she's mad at me. I'm working on her, but that's not the point. She's never going to hear about this. You're not going to tell her, are you? Because then Race would have to hear about this, and I'm pretty sure you're already going to break his heart, Goldilocks."

She winced, trying to disentangle herself from him, and somehow, she only managed to push him a bit towards the alley behind him, his grip on her waist pulling her with him. "I'm not trying to hurt him, and there is no this, Jack, I'm not interested in your help, I can manage on my own."

Jack twisted around to press her against the cold brick of the alley wall, shaking his head with a laugh. "Of course there is. I felt the way you kissed me back. You want this, you couldn't say no to me if you tried. Go on, then, try."

"I..." Flushed, she tried to at least look away, but when Jack's fingers caught her chin and tugged her face back, she gave up, leaning up to kiss him, disgusted with herself, fully aware she was destroying everything good she'd managed to gather together since she'd lost her family.

When he finally pulled away, he smirked down at her, dark, and slightly crooked, his hands settling at her hips for just a moment. "That's what I thought. So tonight. I'll meet you out at that bar I found you in last night. See if we can't line both of our pockets a bit. I've got a trick or two I could teach you. Men aren't usually that careful with the contents of their pockets when they're picking up girls in pubs."

She flushed, squirming a bit. "I couldn't steal from them, they'd know, and then they really would kill me, or turn me into the police." She tried to work her hips away from his hands, but that just made him chuckle, pushing back against her.

"I'll teach you how to not get caught, Goldilocks." His lips nuzzled against her throat as he pinned her a bit harder, making her whimper faintly. "I'll teach you later." There was a tone in his voice that made it clear he was done talking for the moment, and she fell silent, not sure she was actually happy about any of this, but not completely sure she could manage to say no.

She wanted him, she knew that was true, the way she was reacting to him, he knew it too, but she also knew he was just using her, and that almost killed her. She felt completely trapped, and filthy, more miserable still than she'd already been feeling all day, and something told her it was only going to get worse.


	7. Chapter 7

Jack, somehow, had managed to completely keep his nose clean, in spite of spending his evenings at O'Malley's, the closest local pub, watching several of the girls come and go, he still kept just enough distance that no one turned their disgust onto him the way they had with the girls.

She wasn't the only one, she knew she wouldn't be when this whole thing started. There was Lia, too, cheerfully jumping on board, so grateful that anyone was paying attention to her that she didn't care in what form that attention came, Hazel and Imp quickly joining in as well, Hazel somehow managing, in spite of her ice princess attitude, and Imp already a master pickpocket, quickly learning how to snag extras as the men were walking away. Johanna was the last one to start sneaking out with them, a tiny little pixie of a girl the others called Whisp, and it was Johanna that bothered her more than any of the others. The girl was only fifteen, too young for any of it, to her way of thinking.

But it didn't matter to Jack, as long as he got his money, carefully stashed away. She had half-expected him to flaunt it, wave it around, but that would have given him away, she was sure. Instead, he went about his life, being that good guy, winning back his perfect girl, even going to a union meeting or two, giving the girls a much needed night off to sleep.

Everyone knew, of course, about the girls. Whispers, and looks, abounded. Jaguar seemed ready to bully Mrs. Bulger into throwing them all out of the rooming house she was so disgusted, and the dark haired girls leader was starting to get into yelling matches with Lia and Imp almost every day. Everything was coming to pieces, her life was dissolving back into the chaos it had been just after she'd lost her factory job, and she couldn't stop it, it was all her fault.

Small wonder she'd started picking up bottles of laudanum again. The opium and alcohol mix had been her best friend in the days before Jack Kelly had found her on the church steps, and it was becoming that again. The dull, dazed feeling it left her with made going through the motions, any motions, so much easier. She didn't have to feel much of anything.

Days started to blur together, blobs of time dripping past in clumps. One day was Monday, and the next thing she'd know, it was Thursday. She tried to keep up selling newspapers, but the act itself was so absurd, so pointless that she could barely invest any effort into it. And Jack's occasional snarking didn't help matters at all. The fact that she was his favorite of the girls, but that didn't stop him from sampling his own goods didn't matters at all.

The look on Race's face every time he saw her didn't help matters at all. He knew, of course he knew, about what she was doing at night. He probably had even figured out Jack's part in it. She'd seen the looks he gave his leader as well, betrayed and angry. She tried to talk to him, but he walked away, and the disgust on his face was like someone was driving a knife into her stomach, and jerking it upwards. She could almost swear she could see her own guts spilling onto her hands. And that was only the first time. A feeling of shame and regret so real, so physical, that she could swear someone was gutting her. She expected carnage when she looked down, only to be confronted by her ratty dress, over a rattier corset, holding her...assets higher.

It was probably the laudanum. Confusing her, muddling her, making it impossible to think straight, to come up with some kind of plan to get out of it, some way to make all of this madness stop. And the worst part was that she was drugging herself, she couldn't stop herself, she would get so sick, shake so hard if she tried not to take it.

Everything was falling apart. She was terrified it would only get worse.

And, of course, it did.

It was finally getting warmer, finally spring was arriving, and she knew she wouldn't be forced to stand in the snow much longer when Whisp tugged lightly on her coat, to catch her attention. It was morning, and they'd just managed to snag coffee and toast before heading out with the others to pick up newspapers, standing in the back of the line as though half-hoping there would be none left when they got there. The younger girl's eyes were dark, and not completely because of the fact that one of them had been blacked not all that long ago. "Goldie? I...I've been gettin sick most mornings recently."

"Maybe you have a bug or somethin, Johanna, I don't know. Ask Mrs. Bulger." She was so tired, so worn out, still shaking slightly, the drops of laudanum she'd added to the glass of water she'd consumed before heading down to get her coffee hadn't kicked in, or maybe wouldn't, because of the coffee, she wasn't sure.

"Goldie...I've been gettin -sick- in the mornings. And..." The girl's eyes were wide as Whisp caught her hand and pressed it firmly against her lower belly.

It was a bit too firm. And she was sick mornings... "Oh, no." Her eyes closed as she tugged her hand free of Whisp's grip, wincing at the mere thought. "Have you told Jack?"

"I'm too scared he'll hit me." Whisp cringed, ducking her head, and she suddenly knew who had blacked Johanna's eye. Her jaw tensed, fingernails digging into the palm of her hands, and any happy haze she might have managed to gather around herself faded, completely.

"I'll tell him, hun. Let me handle it." The look of relief on Whisp's face was heartbreaking. Worse, because she didn't know how Jack would handle it, what he'd do. He more than enough money to drag her off to some back-alley hack who would probably only succeed in killing the girl, but more than likely he'd dump her on her ass, leaving her to handle it herself. And Whisp was far too young for that.

He was never happy when one of his girls marched right up to him, in the distribution center, and the look in his eyes was murder when she demanded to speak to him for a moment, in private. David was giving him sideways glances as she dragged him off, and she knew she'd pay for the fact he'd have to explain himself to Sarah, but she didn't care. This was too important.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Goldilocks?" Jack's eyes narrowed at her, in the shadows cast by the walls lining the alley she'd dragged him to. "If you wanted me so badly, you could just have waited until tonight. Although you know I hate to wear you out before the paying customers arrive."

"Shut up, Jack. Whisp is pregnant." Her arms crossed over her stomach, protectively, and she braced herself for his fist encountering some part of her. But oddly, it never came. Instead, it found a target in the wall next to her, slamming into it hard enough to almost break bone, from the sound of it.

"Goddamn little idiot." He snarled, pulling his hand back, knuckles bloody, and moving to storm off, clearly intending to go after her.

She caught his arm, pulling him back, forced to exert rather a lot of effort to do so. "Please! Jack...stop. It isn't her fault!"

"And what money do you think she's going to make when she's rolling around the size of a house? And then when she's wasting all her time taking care of some bastard brat?" Jack gave her a dark look, his concern firmly rooted in greed.

"I'll work extra, to make up for it. Forget this...stupid selling newspapers shit. I'll quit this, start working earlier, find someplace else to live. Just don't hurt her, alright?" It was like a death sentence, agreeing to more of it. She was never going to get out from under it at the rate she was burying herself, but she was too worried for Whisp at the moment to care.

Jack twisted, his arm getting free of her grip, wrapping his own fingers, instead, around her upper arm, squeezing. "You'll make up for her? How about this...you give me 75% of what you make, and maybe I won't beat the little twit until she loses that stupid baby. How about that? We have a deal, Goldilocks?"

The lust for money and power in his eyes made him seem like some kind of monster, terrifying, and inescapable. She was almost unsure how she'd ended up here, even. How things could have changed so much, in just a few months. Agreeing to his terms was going to be the end of her. She would never get away from him, never escape. This was going to be her life, forever.

She met his eyes, just staring into them, trying to see past the greed and the anger, trying to find some kind of hope that there was a person left in him that was honest, and good. She stared for so long that he actually flushed, looking away, shaking her to bring her attention back to his question. "Do we have a deal, Goldilocks?"

"Yeah, we have a deal, Jack." There had been something there, buried, at the back of his eyes. A sad little boy who was doing horrible things because no one was telling him not to. But she knew better than to think she could ever change that. The bruise on her arm when he finally walked away, a bruise she knew would bloom nearly black on her skin, was proof that the scared little boy would never learn to stop himself, or at the very least, she wouldn't be the one to teach him.


	8. Chapter 8

It took her and Lia nearly a week to scrounge up enough to manage a very, very small apartment of their own, Whisp tucked in as well, and Hazel and Imp promising to pay part of the rent of they could find a patch of floor for themselves as well. It was kind of nice, just the girls, on their own, finally away from the hawk-like glare of Jaguar, and the sneering of a large portion of the newsies, but at the same time, it was almost terrifying, relying on the others. When she had stopped bothering to sell papes, they did as well, although none of them were trying quite as hard as she was to make ends meet, to keep Jack off of their back's. That, somehow, had become her own special task, her personal job, to keep Jack happy, and at bay.

It was a horrible routine, but so easy to fall into. No one to wake her up in the morning, sleeping through her laudanum haze, rolling herself out of bed in the afternoon, as the sun was starting to set, stuffing day-old bread into her mouth before knocking back a shot or two, and heading out. She usually crossed paths with Jack as he wandered back towards the lodging house, or the Jacobs's apartment, and in the vivid fading light, at best he'd smirk at her, at worst, ignore her.

It actually hurt. Stupidly, painfully. That he could live a normal life, and she didn't have the option. There was a scared fifteen year old back home that she was trying to protect as though she was her big sister, as though she was her family. These girls, Whisp and Lia, and even Hazel and Imp, had somehow become family, and she was watching them all get ground slowly into nothing. And she couldn't stop it.

She was leaning against a brick wall, brooding about it when a voice being cleared startled her out of her haze, her eyes pressing closed before opening, an artificial smile on her lips about to attempt to say something coy when she saw it was Race. She flushed, her eyes dropping, the words she'd been about to speak somehow fumbling out into a "Heya."

He hesitated, his hands already in his pockets, eyes dropping as though he didn't want to see her the way she was. "Heya, Gold. I ain't seen you around lately. At first, I thought you were avoidin me, but then I realized it was just that you were avoidin all of us."

"No! No, I just've been sleepin durin the day. Out at night, you know. Workin. I wasn't avoidin you, I swear it, Race. Everything happened so fast, and when I wasn't sleepin, I was workin." She almost didn't want to call it working, refusing to meet his eyes, tugging her ratty shawl over her shoulders, trying to cover herself up a bit more. She felt so cheap, her skimpy clothing not helping matters. The corset, and caught-up skirt, the way her hair was barely held up and falling into her face, the faint traces of rouge still visible on her lips, in spite of being nearly worn off. She knew what she looked like. Trash. And she was. She knew it, deep down, in a way she had never known anything else to be so true. She had let herself become trash.

"Kelly put you up to this. All of you. He walks around like the damn patron saint of all newsboys, and all he really is is a bastard." The bitterness in Race's voice was palpable, she could almost feel the tension in his jaw, his anger.

"I'm so sorry, Race. I should never have..." Her voice broke, and she curled in on herself slightly, feeling lower than dirt, but forcing herself to keep going. "You were the sweetest guy a girl could ask for. You deserve better than me." And it was true. Race had been nothing but perfect with her. The best, the sweetest boy she'd ever known. Even his gambling hadn't been that big a deal, he lost money and made it faster than she could sell papers, and he was never bitter or resentful about a bad day at the tracks. At least, he had never been, before this whole mess had happened.

"I deserved the truth, maybe. I deserved to know that Kelly had his hands all over you. I deserved a good bye." His voice dropped, cold and soft, and she almost had to strain to hear it, taking a moment to process it, and then the feeling of a knife driving into her gut slammed into her again. She physically winced away from him, swallowing a bit hard, flushing, wracked with guilt.

"Race, I'm sorry. I am so sorry. You're right, I should have told you what I was, what I was doin. I should have told you when I left. I just couldn't face you. The disgust when you looked at me." She wanted to cling to him, to plead until he forgave her. She wanted him to save her, to take her away from this. She wanted him to be like a knight in a fairy tale.

But this wasn't a fairy tale. This was reality. Race took a step back, shaking his head, and finally, horribly, meeting her eyes. There was disgust there, and pity, anger, humiliation. She had done that to him. That was her fault. She hadn't intended to hurt him, and yet, from the look of his eyes, she had more than hurt him. He seemed to not even know what to do with himself, be angry, or hurt, or forgiving.

It broke her, and even as she tried to hold it in, tears started welling, and tumbling down her face. "Race..." Her voice wobbled, and she took a halting step towards him, ready to throw herself at him and start begging for forgiveness. She needed his forgiveness, she needed him to tell her he didn't blame her. She needed him to save her. No one else was going to bother.

When she moved forward, however, he moved back, further from her, shaking his head. "You made a fool of me once, Goldilocks. Not again." He glanced away, spotting a group of rough mill workers heading in their direction down the street, and nodded at them, with a dark, and mirthless smile. "Besides, you're working, aren't you? There you go, bet they'd be glad to show you a good time."

Before she could answer him, he was gone, and she was left unable to breathe, on the edge of panic, her mind swirling, beating herself up. She knew, on some rational level, that she had to pull herself together, before a crowd like the one heading towards her crossed paths with her, but she couldn't even catch a full breath, clinging to the brick wall she had been leaning against to keep from crumbling to her knees. She wanted to scream, or run, or rip her hair out, something, anything, but all she had was the sense that she was so numb she'd never feel anything properly again. It was crushing her, choking her, blinding her.

The fact that she was in such a state was probably a blessing. One of the crowd of men had spotted her, elbowing his friend, and calling out, inquiring about her, how much her company might cost. By rote, she answered him. The only good part about it, in the end, was that she got paid, not that cash could heal bruises, or nearly broken jaw bones. Time was the only thing that would heal that, and rest, a good long stretch of healing and pulling herself together. And she somehow never had enough of any of that.


	9. Chapter 9

"I thought part of the reason we bothered to give you any part of what we made was so you'd be there to stop this kinda thing from happening!" Imp was fuming at Jack, who was pacing like a caged tiger in the small apartment the next morning.

She watched him moving back and forth, trying to decide if he was angry with her, or with himself, as Lia tried to figure out if anything was broken under the bruises. She winced as the brunette poked and prodded at all of the wrong bits, and then again when Jack spun around, leveling a glare at Imp.

"If she hadn't been such an idiot, this wouldn't've happened. She wouldn't have gone off with them, and she'd be fine. But no. Head in the clouds, off she wandered, and now look at her. It's a damn lesson, to all of you. Learn to be a bit more careful." Of course Jack wouldn't take any responsibility for having failed to protect her. Even if he'd been anywhere near her when she'd gone with that pack of mill workers, it wouldn't have made any difference. He would have let her go, dollar signs in his eyes.

She cleared her throat, shaking her head at Imp in an effort to shut the other girl up. "It was my fault for bein careless, Imp. Don't yell at Jack about it." About to say more, she hissed when Lia gently prodded at her cheek. "Ow, Lia! It's a damn bruise, alright? Just leave it be. I'll cover it up, somehow."

"You'd need a veil to cover that up." Hazel drawled slightly from where she was sprawled at the tiny kitchen table, her feet resting on the edge of it, chair leaning back dangerously. Even from across the room, she could smell the whiskey on the other girl, enough to make her a little bit sick.

"I know that, but no one'll really care. It's dark anyway." She tried to force a smile, mostly for Whisp's benefit. The younger girl was curled up on her bed in the corner, looking deeply concerned about everything that was happening.

"Damn straight it doesn't matter." Jack had finally stopped pacing, although he was almost glowing with barely contained frustration and anger. He pushed Lia out of the way in order to grab her arm, jerking her to her feet, and shoving her, roughly, towards the door. "In fact, unless you want to start gettin behind, you should get your stupid, lazy ass out there right now, Goldilocks."

She stumbled, catching herself against the door, casting a pleading look in his direction. "It's the middle of the damn day, Jack. No one picks up a girl this time of day. Not off the street."

She cringed back when he stormed towards her, his fingers catching her chin, jerking her face up. "Then find yourself a bar, and get hustlin. I don't want to see your ugly face unless you're begging me to have you, or bringing me money, and even then, it had damn well better be when no one else is around. Never, ever talk to me in front of anyone either of us knows, ever again, Goldilocks. We clear?" He let go of her chin with a bit of a jerk, and she quickly turned her face to the side, waiting for him to hit her.

When he didn't, she nodded, quickly, her voice small. "Yeah, we're clear, Jack." Even without seeing them, she felt as though his eyes were boring into her for a long moment, down to her soul, studying every flaw of her personality, every weakness, every fault, as though learning how to use them all against her, how best to make her bend to his will, do what he wanted her to do.

And then, abruptly, he turned his glare on the rest of the room, narrowing his eyes at each of the other girls in turn. "Same goes for all of you. No more dragging me here in the middle of the damn day. I'm already gonna get shit for being here at all. Last thing I really need is everyone thinking I have anything to do with girls like you."

With trash like them, was what he was saying. Their money was good enough, but he didn't want the filth of how they made it clinging to him. It made sense, on some horrible level- he still had a life, a real life, with real potential. He might still make something of himself, if he tried. They, on the other hand, were going nowhere.

Before any of the other girls could comment, or argue, she grabbed his sleeve, bringing his attention back onto herself, forcing a smile onto her lips. "Yeah, we get it, Jack. We all get it. Right?" She gave the others a frantic sort of pleading look, and got a chorus of mumbled agreement in reply.

It seemed to pacify him, and he turned back to look at her properly, a sneering smirk crossing his face. He caught her chin again, leaning down to brush his lips against her ear. "Six o'clock, in the alley next to Irvin Hall. I want you to have what you made last night, and today. Oh, and...expect to spend a bit of time on your knees."

She was almost shaking when he pulled away, the dark in his eyes somehow making it worse as he pushed her, carelessly out of the way so he could get past her through the door, slamming it shut behind him. Disgustingly, she was actually flushing, as though what he'd asked her to do was a date, and not a time and place for him to pick up his money and enjoy his wares.

She brushed off Lia's questions and concerns, and with a sigh, in spite of being exhausted, she followed him out the door. She wasn't going to make all that much, with the sun brightly shining down on her, exposing every bruise and imperfection, but apparently, it was her job to try.


	10. Chapter 10

The sun was rising, and the only thing on her mind was that as soon as she made it back to the apartment, she could fall onto her creaking, tiny bed, and sleep. Sleep for a good long while. Hours. And somewhere, in the back of her mind, there was the niggling hope that maybe she wouldn't wake up.

Bruises faded, nearly broken bones healed, new ones formed, cuts and scratches hastily bandaged. Life, in a hazy blur, one night stringing into the next, a carousel of loud and smoky pubs, and dark alleys, and the streets between. Her life, spinning, horribly, sickeningly, out of control. She had nothing to hold on to, nothing to keep her feet on the ground, and only the thinnest ties even keeping her from bolting, running, headlong and blindly into the night.

Whisp was starting to show, in spite of malnutrition, and her drinking. She had tried to convince the girl to stop working, maybe find one of those homes for wayward girls, but the horror stories were enough to keep Whisp on the streets, getting lost in a haze every bit as bad as her own. It was painful to watch, to be a part of.

In fact, the only one the whole thing wasn't wearing down was Imp. And it was probably because the girl was a born con artist, already a skilled pickpocket, and more than just a little loose with her favors. She had settled in nicely, and eventually, over time, even Jack learned to joke with her, at night, in the bars, when he allowed himself to be seen with them.

In spite of everything, amazingly, he had managed to hold his other life together. His girl, so smart, apparently, so clever, and perfect, either knew and wanted to ignore it, or was blind, and refused to see, and the same went for his partner, the one with the silly grin, and the stick up his ass.

Not that she saw them any more, and of them. She never did, unless she wandered into the wrong streets at the wrong time of day. Unless she was horribly hungover, and taking the wrong path back. Unless a pack of newsboys nearly ran her over as she was trudging home. Unless a smirking Jack Kelly came to a stop right in front of her, forcing her to come to a stop before she ran into him.

"Well, well, Goldilocks. You look worn out. Too many drunk sailors wanting your company last night?" His voice drawled, loud enough to be heard, as though he hadn't seen her the night before, as though he hadn't had a drink with her.

She winced, and prepared to duck around him, hurry on her way, startled into stopping when Race's voice piped up.

"Leave her alone, Cowboy. It's your damn fault, anyway, anything she's done. How much of a cut do you get at the end of the night?" He wasn't looking at either of them, his voice off-handed, and he didn't stop walking, passing them and continuing on, as though intending to just pretend he hadn't said anything. But the chorus of whispers and gasping forced him to stop.

"What was that, Racetrack?" Jack's smirk had faded into a slight snarl, and his fingers were clenching and unclenching, balling into fists, and then slacking again.

"I said it was your damn fault. You were the one who bullied her into it. And the others. And Whisp? Yeah, I saw her the other day. She's pregnant. She's a kid, Cowboy. And she's givin you, what? Half? Of what she makes on the street, knocked up with god knows who's baby." He turned and caught Jack's partner's eye, amid the crowd that was gathering around them in the small square outside the distribution center. "Did you know that, David? What your friend does at night? Where he gets that extra money he's hoardin away?"

The curly-haired boy gave Jack a confused look, hesitating a bit. "What's he talking about, Jack?"

Before Jack could actually answer, Race answered for him. "Goldie here, and Lia, and Haze, and Imp and Whisp, you remember Whisp? Tiny little girl? Yeah, Jacky-boy here has them workin for him, at night, out of the Dancin Dove down the way a bit. He takes half of what they make, for doin nothin, just sittin around in a bar, drinkin. That might be something Sarah would want to know."

David's face went from white to red, to darker red, jumping back slightly when Jack fist took a flying swing at Race's nose. And while it might be said that Race didn't stand a chance, when it came to a fight with Jack, he held his own in the ensuing fight, both landing punches, and kicks, and only stopping when other boys pulled them apart.

That ugly look that Goldie had seen on Jack's face, the one she hadn't known if anyone else had ever seen, well, everyone was seeing it now, as he snarled at Race, spitting blood at his feet. "What did you think tellin everyone was gonna do, Race? Did you think maybe she'd stop hanging around the street corner and take you back? You want to be with her? She's nothin."

"If she's nothin, then you're less than nothin, you bastard." Given the amount of blood dripping off of Race's nose, it was obvious it was broken. And while her instinct was telling her to run, she hurried to Race's side, fumbled for a handkerchief, offering it to him. She was aware, of course she was aware, that by going to Race to check on him, rather than Jack, she saying she cared more about him than she did about keeping Jack happy, and she would pay for it later, she could see it in Jack's eyes.

Jack shook off any attempt at helping him, straightening, tugging his hat up onto his head, his eyes narrowed, ignoring David's look of betrayal, the whispers of the other boys, the crooked looks he was getting. "At least I'm not stupid enough to think a girl like her is worth wasting my time on. You're welcome to her, just remember to pay her when you're done. Unless she gives you the stupid sap discount." Hands in his pockets, he walked through the small crowd, parting it without effort, as though suddenly, no one wanted to even touch him, just in case. He seemed to be heading back towards the lodging house, but she was more worried about Race than about where Jack was going.

"You shouldn't have said that, Race. It isn't as though I don't have enough trouble already without Sarah Jacobs tracking me down to kill me." Her voice was light, meant only for Race to hear, but apparently David had better hearing than she thought.

"Is it true? Do you...work for Jack? Like that?" He had that look that vets sometimes got, when they were recalling a missile going off too close to them, blank and sort of shocked.

"David...everythin's really complicated, and it's not really what it seems-"

Race cut her off, his voice flat, blunt. "Yes. She does." He pulled away from her, shoving the bloodied handkerchief into her hand, and storming off into the distribution center without another word.

David didn't seem to have another word for her either, silently drifting after Race, the others slowly following. She was left standing alone in the little courtyard, shaking and on the verge of tears, finally just bolting for her horrible little apartment, desperately hoping that if she just got some sleep, she could wake up and have that entire disaster turn out to have been nothing more than a nightmare. She couldn't make sense of it, why Race would do something like that, why Jack would have punched him for it, why Jack bothered to talk to her at all, except to make her feel small and unimportant.

He was going to be so angry with her.


	11. Chapter 11

Several days later, she was still waiting for Jack's wrath fall on her for the scene outside the distribution center, but nothing had really happened yet. He was silent, although the gossips were in a tizzy about what was happening. Sarah, it seemed, had been so horrified she hadn't been able to say anything to him at all, and David and Les hadn't been seen. In a way, that made it easier for Jack to just smile, and keep selling, and none of the others seemed willing to discuss what he did at night. Except, of course, Race, who was to be heard muttering.

Nothing much changed with the girls, either. They went about their lives in the exact same way as always, slowly getting worn down, ground down, broken. Imp was nursing a nearly broken arm, and Lia had come home one night not talking, and hadn't really resumed talking since. She did her best to keep marching forward, even as she wanted to bed the others to tell Jack to go to hell. But for some reason, she couldn't manage it, and if she couldn't escape how could she demand anyone else escape?

The worst part, perhaps the most terrifying, was that she'd seen a few of the other boys in the area looking at their girlfriends with that look on their faces, the look Jack had when he looked at her. Just one or two of them, the ones she'd expect to be that way with a girl, but she didn't want to think about this spreading. It was hard, of course, because in so many ways, she felt it was her fault for being this here. She felt so guilty about it, like she'd taken, and ruined something pure, something good.

And Jack, ever the reader of people, only seemed to feed on her guilt, trapping her, catching her at odd moments and finding just the right words to make her feel less than trash, less than human, unworthy of even his time. He knew how frail she'd been when he found her, and she had no idea why he'd bothered to be kind, ever, but that reversal, his sudden cruelty was only made harder to handle because of it. She was so lost, and the world sometimes actually just spun around her as she tried to figure out how she could just get away. She was desperately wondering that, as she leaned against a wall not too far from the apartment, as the sun began to set.

"Why don't you just leave?" Race's voice came out of nowhere, as it often did, and when she turned to look at him, her heart nearly broke. There was so much betrayal in his eyes, but more than that, he looked honestly worried, about her.

"I can't. Where would I go?" Her arms crossed over her stomach, a protective gesture, her eyes dropping, afraid to keep looking at him.

"Anywhere. You've got some money, right? I've got some money. We...you and me, we could go. Run off. Anywhere. I've got an uncle in Boston, we could go there." The tone of his voice made it clear he didn't believe she would go anywhere with him, but the words just came tumbling out of his mouth.

"You'd want to help me? Get out of here? But...Whisp needs someone to watch out for her and keep Jack off her back, and Lia ain't talkin again yet, and I don't know what's wrong with her..." Her own voice trailed off, breaking a little. She wanted to leave, she did. She wanted to say yes, take me away, run off with me. But she couldn't. There was no answer that simple. She was in too deep.

"You don't want to go with me." Race's eyes closed, shaking his head, his jaw setting a bit as though he was trying to strengthen his will as he tensed muscle. "That's fine, that's all you have to say-"

"That's not it, Race. I want to go with you. I want to run. Away from this. Away from Jack. I never want to stand on the side of a street, at night, or in a bar, waitin for someone to take a shine to me again. I don't want their hands on me." She was starting to dissolve, tears building in her eyes, shoulders shaking a bit with the effort to keep them back. She wanted to reach for him, cling to him, bury her face in his chest. She wanted his arms around her, she remembered what that felt like, a memory already starting to go dim, she hadn't realized she'd been happy then, happier than she was now, happier than she felt she'd ever be again.

"So, come with me." He took a step towards her, his hand resting on her shoulder, just softly, ready to pull away if she shrugged him off.

"I want to! But I can't. Who'll look after everyone if I go?" She finally looked back up, meeting his eyes, and as she did, the tears started falling.

"They'll look after themselves, Goldie, they always did before you got here. They'll be fine. Please." He shook his head, and seemingly without thought, pulled her into his arms. "I can't stand by and watch Jack Kelly destroy you anymore. It's killin me."

That broke her, completely, sobbing against his shoulder, clinging to him, his warmth. "I'm sorry, Race, I'm so sorry."

His pulled back, just a bit, his fingers catching her chin, tugging her face up. "Tell you what. Tomorrow morning, instead of getting my papes, I'll pack up. Meet me at that stupid statue outside the distribution center, at noon, all set to go, and we'll just go. You and me, we'll go. To Boston, or anywhere. Anywhere you wanna go."

She hesitated, afraid of it, afraid to agree to it. But she finally nodded, smiling, a watery smile. "Alright. I'll be there. Noon."

"Alright." He grinned, leaning in to kiss her, just a light peck on the lips, before backing away a bit more. "I should go...But tomorrow. Noon."

She nodded again, agreeing, "Noon." But as he walked away, she started to wonder if she could actually do it, actually leave everyone behind.


	12. Chapter 12

The evening had dragged on, each hour worse than the last, and by the time it ended, she was exhausted as she ever was, but she hurried back to the apartment as fast as she could, and while the others got ready to crash for the morning, she started stuffing things into her bag. Whisp questioned her, several times, but she kept saying that it was unimportant, to just get some sleep. She didn't want to admit to the girl that she was running away, leaving her behind, leaving behind any responsibility she had to any of them. She was being so selfish, and she had such a hard time facing that.

Once her bags were packed, she napped for a bit, an uneasy sleep filled with half-dreams, nightmares. Something was going to go horribly wrong, she was sure of it, but as she was always sure of that, she wasn't even sure she could believe it.

Some time before noon, she slipped out of her small bed, snagging her bag, and slipping out without waking anyone. The walk to the courtyard took her a bit, weaving through crowded streets, scared Race wouldn't even be there when she got there. But he was, looking just as nervous, a bag slung on his shoulder, hat in his hands, bending and unbending the brim of it. When he saw her, he broke into a broad grin, moving to meet her halfway across the courtyard.

"I wasn't sure you'd come..." His voice trailed off, glancing down, away from her, but he reached for her hand, catching it, and squeezing lightly. "I have enough money left from what I won the other day for tickets to Boston. Won't be comfortable, but it'll get us there. My uncle Leo runs a flower shop on Hanover St, I'm sure he'll give us jobs."

"A flower shop?" She moved a bit closer to him, her voice hopeful. "You mean a real job, in a shop?"

"Yeah, real jobs, and when we've saved up enough, we could get a place of our own, you know? An apartment, just you and me? Might have to tell my family I married you so they won't have a fit, but if you don't mind that, it'd be great." He grinned, and he looked as hopeful as she sounded. As she grinned back, she started to think it might be alright, maybe everything would work out.

"I'd love that." And she would, and maybe she'd fall in love with him, actually in love with him. She wanted that, she wanted him to save him.

"Ain't this sweet." Jack's voice drifted over them out of the blue, and she had to fight off panic. How had he known they'd be there? How had he figured that out? She couldn't even manage to turn around to look at him, already shrinking into herself, eyes firmly closed.

"Just walk away, Jack." Race nearly growled, pulling her closer, protectively. She instinctively shifted closer still, refusing to even look at Jack.

"I don't think so. Sorry to break it to you, Race, but you're not taking my most popular girl anywhere unless you're paying for her." She didn't have to look at him to know Jack was sneering, to visualize his lip curling. His drawl was lazy, confident, as though he knew she wasn't going to be able to go anywhere. "And besides, I need to have a word with her. She hasn't given me her damn money yet today. That's stealing."

She finally managed to speak, snapping a bit. "Not if I earned it myself, no help from you, Cowboy."

"I didn't want to do this." Jack sighed, and she heard a strange click, finally pulling away from Race to look at him, her eyes flying wide when she saw the pistol in his hand. She had never seen the thing before, had no idea where he'd gotten it, but it was pointed at Race, and the look on Jack's face made it clear he would use it. "Back away from the girl, Race. I don't want to shoot you."

"What the hell, Cowboy? You're not going to shoot me. And you're not going to shoot her." Race pulled her closer, and then quickly tucked her behind him when Jack leveled the gun at his head. "Back off, Kelly."

Jack shook his head, smirking more broadly. "I want her money, and then she needs to get her ass onto the corner, unless you're going to waste your cigar money on her, because if I found out she's giving it away for free, she's in a hell of a lot of trouble."

It was as though that was the last straw. Race launched himself at Jack once again, fists flying into his former friend's face, knocking him to the ground. They struggled, rolling, quickly becoming a blur of jostling, until a loud crack echoed into the courtyard, a flash glowing, a thin strain of smoke rising.

Everything fell silent after the sudden noise, and people started to appear in windows and doorframes, gathering around. She had to fight off panic, frozen in place, and all sense of hope died. Jack had shot Race, everything was over, she really was trapped. This was her life, and there was no way out of it.

In the distance she heard a whistle, a copper's whistle, and her eyes closed, jaw quivering, feeling so helpless, so useless. She finally forced herself to move, falling to her knees next to the slightly tangle pile of boys, half expecting that at any moment, Jack would push Race off of himself, roughly grab her arm, and drag her off, before the police arrived to arrest him.

But it didn't happen. Instead, it was Race that moved, managing to get out from under a deadweight Jack, struggling to breathe. She helped him, struggling to shove Jack off of him, and once he was, Race scrambled to his feet.

"We gotta run, Gold." He caught her hand, looking terrified, and took off, pulling her with him, bee-lining for the train yards.

She didn't think, just ran with him, barely able to process it. Jack was gone. Gone. Dead. Never going to bother, bully, or hurt her again. She was free.

She was free. She'd been saved.


End file.
